


gravel

by cyrusbarrone



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Kavinsky's suicide is implied, M/M, POV Second Person, Poetic, Ronan Lynch-centric, Ronan has a crush on all his friends, its also implied that gansey does not stay close w ronan, this is unimportant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 02:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11454105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyrusbarrone/pseuds/cyrusbarrone
Summary: Ronan aches for the grit, the sharpness of Kavinsky and longs for the soft, knowing disapproval of Gansey.





	gravel

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Richard Siken's poem The Torn Up Road, specifically this line: 'A pause, a road, the taste of gravel in the mouth'. Siken's poetry is really lovely (not the right word but) once you start reading it, and i'd highly recommend it to anyone, particularly any Kavinsky fans. 
> 
> This was me trying to get myself back into poetic language, i guess, better descriptions etc in writing. I've been very simplistic in writing. this felt nice, a good change.

It’s the way your hands drop to the ground and pull you backwards; it’s the soft cut of freshly resurfaced road – loose gravel flipped and thrown in the air with each passing tyre – in the flesh of your palms. It’s the thrill of looking up and seeing him, Kavinsky, there; darkened by the beam of headlights behind him; it’s the thrill of opening your legs for him and the sheer vulnerability of it all. How when he grabs your shoulders, pushes you into the glinting charcoal panel of your car, your hips are pulled by strings in twitching movements in typically hidden urgency. It’s how his teeth feel on your bottom lip and the way his eyes – half mast, black – droop to watch your hand on your dick and how you’re shaking but won’t ever admit it. 

It’s the indent of fingers and of gravel in the dips of your wrists; the loops of your hips seen in the mirror later that evening. It’s the look Gansey sends you, disappointed, parental – how when you analyse the stare, the _disapproval_ of your other side – bi-human you – your dick twitches and you have to, _have to_ , make him look at you like that again. It’s how when you shower you dig your nails into the memories of gravel and hands and you cum again, again and somehow Gansey knows. Somehow he looks at you – later, when the indents are long gone, the stink of car and tar and booze-slicked- _boy_ , of _Kavinsky_ , is gone – and sees everything you were in the gravel. He sees you, what you hide – the way you twitch behind a steering wheel, the way your hand drops to your crotch when K in his shining, glistening Mitsu, drawls up next to you at the traffic lights; how just the sight of the slick white car, the sneer of shark eyes gets your dick hard – and it makes you _ache_. 

It’s how you desperately want both. Want the bite of gravel and snip of your shark-toothed-booze-wet-boy and the Old-Money slur of Gansey. It feels dishonest – and this too makes your bones ache, makes your eyes feel a little too-dazed and too-wide – coming home wet with cum and danger and adrenaline from one boy, from one boy who fucks like he drives; like death is a _side effect_. To the other boy who oozes taught-etiquette and disapproval. Gansey who looked like – and you think about this deeply, have thought, in your staring, endless, insomniac nights – he could ,if you pushed him, hold you on your knees and keep you there – _Good Boy_.He'd tell you how Kavinsky was a death wish – and God how you wanted K and his version of life, of death – while he, Gansey, was a life wish. Old-Money pitted against something new, fast; modern. And God you wanted _both_. 

It’s how you’d end up with neither, how later when you’d pushed Gansey away with your soft-teenage recklessness; carelessness and your shark-toothed-boy dropped away by side-effect of clinical-depression; drugs, a hidden, deep-sated sadness, you end up alone. It’s how you understand, but _want_ and ache nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> please PLEASE tell me what you think <3 this fic is precious to me, idk why, i just love how it reads. 
> 
> my tumblr is in my bio !


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